I've been spending a good part of my three-month work hiatus at home in LA with family, and more recently, in Taiwan with the extended family. Even through college, getting to spend this much time with fam was such a rarity, and what I was mostly able to salvage through those years were only bits and pieces of a larger picture. So I've considered these last few weeks a real treat in terms of quality down-time with the people who know me best.
Admittedly, being out in New York and away from my immediate family hasn't always been the easiest thing. On the surface, I embrace the independence and freedom that the city has to offer -- but it's both a blessing and a curse to be so easily accessible to everyone and everything in the vicinity. I'm lucky to even be able to experience life on a different coast, I know, to pursue my passions at a time when practicality might seem the better path.
But realistically, the pace of life can be pretty dang draining. I put myself on a two-week communication silence while I was in Taiwan, and I feel like I learned so much more and used my time so much more efficiently not being bound to the tether of technology. No email, no Internet, no Facebook, no phone. I spent more time living in the real "now" than in the demands of a contrived "now" made up of updates and Tweets and email counters. I wasn't running to catch up all the time; I could set my own pace.
Rather than living vicariously through other people in other time zones, I was actually taking part in my own life and really getting to see beyond the distraction of the Crackberry screen.
It was refreshing.
I've always said that health and family are the only two things that anybody needs. Everything else is extraneous and will fall into place somehow. My entire family made this trip back to Taiwan because my grandfather recently passed away, and in those two weeks, nothing else really mattered. I knew the job hunt would still be here when I got back. The emails, they would pile up. But nobody needed to get to me so urgently that it couldn't wait two weeks while I spent time with family.
My grandfather was 100 years old when he passed. He'd gone from living in the countryside to training to be a physician to being a surgeon to being a husband, father and grandfather. That's a lot of years of life. That's a lot of life in his years. But I don't think he ever would have (nor would anyone in his life) defined himself by just any one of those labels. He was human, and therefore multifaceted, and I think being there at the funeral really caused me to think a lot about mortality and death and, truth be told, life.
I titled this blog "quarter-life musings of a life in transition," and taken literally, that means I'm already (almost) a quarter of the way through with this thing called life. It's pretty terrifying, really. It's not that this means I have the sudden urge to grow up, necessarily, only that I'm more conscious of my thoughts and actions now, and how it'll all make for a projected "later."
The crazy thing is that the people that I've surrounded myself with now are the ones who'll be able to help piece together the bits of my life later on down the line. They're the ones I'll be reminiscing with and sharing memories with and the ones who'll become characters and names in the story I call my life. And these things I'm doing now, they're all leading to a big unexpected place called "the future," and as unpredictable as that place might be, I've got to pay better attention to the now in order to trace back my deliberate steps to wherever I end up.
Hearing so many stories about my grandfather, learning about the intricacies of the family -- politics and history and all that -- is inspiring. I don't think I'm alone when I say that I want to live a life worth telling about. And so I begin. Now.
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
Showing posts with label family. Show all posts
17 June 2010
02 April 2010
12 February 2010
08 November 2009
12 September 2009
Movin' on up.
My cousin's a proud papa, as of last night.
...and the generations continue to shift and shuffle. (:
...and the generations continue to shift and shuffle. (:
06 September 2009
Family & familiarity
This might sound really trite and dumb of me, but I hadn't realized how much I had underestimated the value of family until this past weekend. I spent the better part of yesterday out on Staten Island, visiting the extended family - people I haven't seen in nearly 10 years, all of whom still remember me in pigtails or jumpers or both.
My aunt and uncle (Aunt Jane and Uncle Paul, my closest relatives back in LA) flew out to New York for a weekend of reunions and meals and reminiscing. They're both just past 70, but are as active and social as ever (this is a common thread in my family, the longevity and the activeness). They've never had children and therefore take on any kids - that is to say, anyone in a generation past theirs - as their own.
My cousins and I all have fond memories of spending summers and weekends at their house, watching cartoons (theirs was the first house to get cable, and later, the first to have AOL back in the dial-up days), eating lots of candy and essentially having free reign over our days. They were the aunt and uncle who would say "yes" to extended bedtimes and "no" to homework, and we loved them for it.
What we didn't realize was that, along the way, they were building the kind of trust and bond between their generation and ours that would prove essential as we all began to grow up.
I got a phone call from my uncle on Thursday when he and my aunt landed in the City, and he insisted that I make the trek out to Staten Island with them yesterday, that it was important that I reacquaint myself with that side of the family. They all want to see you, he said. You've grown up a lot since they last saw you.
So I went. My aunt (recovering from some pretty intense physical therapy post-surgery), my uncle (exclaiming every two seconds about how much New York has changed), my cousin (just about to start his senior year at NYU) and I boarded a ferry in the early afternoon. Destination: memory lane, Staten Island.
A ferry and train ride later, we were in the heart of Staten Island, surrounded by trees and homes with dusty white picket fences and cars that hummed down small tarred roads. The aunt and uncle we were visiting were actually old college friends of Aunt Jane and Uncle Paul, a wonderful couple that might as well have been family, if not by blood.
I hadn't seen either of them in ages, and sure enough, they made comments about how tall I've gotten, how much I've changed, how glad they were that I've decided to move out to the east coast (But don't tell your mother I said that). It was eye-opening to see the age in their eyes, the wrinkles that crept up around their smiles, the grey that shone in their hair at certain angles.
Clearly, we had all changed.
It wasn't until their daughters, Susan and Linda (my adopted cousins of sorts), joined us, that I really felt the weight of the change. I finally met Susan's 5-year-old son Michael, autistic and so charismatic (half-Chinese and half-Irish is a beautiful mix, his dad Kevin pointed out), and Linda's fiancé Chris (she had had a different boyfriend last time we met).
Knowing that these cousins had built a life for themselves in the interim between now and when I had last visited was an unexpected shock. Usually, visiting relatives means seeing physical signs of aging, but not complete lifestyle restructuring.
From their perspective, they couldn't believe that I had already shorn my pigtails and glasses, let alone graduated from college. It boggled their minds that I was old enough to drink, when the last time they had seen me I was still disgusted by the bitter taste of coffee.
We all went out to dinner, and I just couldn't wrap my mind around the generational shift that had taken place. Michael was calling me Auntie. Aunt Jane and Uncle Paul were now Grandma Jane and Grandpa Paul. My cousins, one nearing 30 and the other nearing 40, weren't the young, flighty girls I had remembered them to be. They had something solid, something established. They were creating their own sense of home and family.
But though the change was startling, it wasn't scary. Because honestly, seeing all the interactions at the dinner table - Linda dumping grape leaves on Susan's plate, Kevin talking football with Chris, a long-lost uncle catching up with Aunt Jane - made me see just how important those initial bonds still were.
In the middle of all the craziness of moving to New York and trying to find a foothold in the journalism industry, I had forgotten what it felt like just to spend an afternoon with family. And just...be.
I've always contended that if you have your family and your health, then nothing else really matters. Things fall into place, problems work themselves out, and the world keeps turning. This weekend confirmed that. At the end of the day, what I decide to do in the coming years and where I ultimately end up will be more than fine no matter what. I've been blessed with a loving family (and an intricate network of extended family), and that support is immeasurable.
Having that knowledge is invigorating, inspiring. From a solid base like that you can really go anywhere. Like I'd been taught by the great Sumi back at USC, roots before branches.
Roots before branches.
My aunt and uncle (Aunt Jane and Uncle Paul, my closest relatives back in LA) flew out to New York for a weekend of reunions and meals and reminiscing. They're both just past 70, but are as active and social as ever (this is a common thread in my family, the longevity and the activeness). They've never had children and therefore take on any kids - that is to say, anyone in a generation past theirs - as their own.
My cousins and I all have fond memories of spending summers and weekends at their house, watching cartoons (theirs was the first house to get cable, and later, the first to have AOL back in the dial-up days), eating lots of candy and essentially having free reign over our days. They were the aunt and uncle who would say "yes" to extended bedtimes and "no" to homework, and we loved them for it.
What we didn't realize was that, along the way, they were building the kind of trust and bond between their generation and ours that would prove essential as we all began to grow up.
I got a phone call from my uncle on Thursday when he and my aunt landed in the City, and he insisted that I make the trek out to Staten Island with them yesterday, that it was important that I reacquaint myself with that side of the family. They all want to see you, he said. You've grown up a lot since they last saw you.
So I went. My aunt (recovering from some pretty intense physical therapy post-surgery), my uncle (exclaiming every two seconds about how much New York has changed), my cousin (just about to start his senior year at NYU) and I boarded a ferry in the early afternoon. Destination: memory lane, Staten Island.
A ferry and train ride later, we were in the heart of Staten Island, surrounded by trees and homes with dusty white picket fences and cars that hummed down small tarred roads. The aunt and uncle we were visiting were actually old college friends of Aunt Jane and Uncle Paul, a wonderful couple that might as well have been family, if not by blood.
I hadn't seen either of them in ages, and sure enough, they made comments about how tall I've gotten, how much I've changed, how glad they were that I've decided to move out to the east coast (But don't tell your mother I said that). It was eye-opening to see the age in their eyes, the wrinkles that crept up around their smiles, the grey that shone in their hair at certain angles.
Clearly, we had all changed.
It wasn't until their daughters, Susan and Linda (my adopted cousins of sorts), joined us, that I really felt the weight of the change. I finally met Susan's 5-year-old son Michael, autistic and so charismatic (half-Chinese and half-Irish is a beautiful mix, his dad Kevin pointed out), and Linda's fiancé Chris (she had had a different boyfriend last time we met).
Knowing that these cousins had built a life for themselves in the interim between now and when I had last visited was an unexpected shock. Usually, visiting relatives means seeing physical signs of aging, but not complete lifestyle restructuring.
From their perspective, they couldn't believe that I had already shorn my pigtails and glasses, let alone graduated from college. It boggled their minds that I was old enough to drink, when the last time they had seen me I was still disgusted by the bitter taste of coffee.
We all went out to dinner, and I just couldn't wrap my mind around the generational shift that had taken place. Michael was calling me Auntie. Aunt Jane and Uncle Paul were now Grandma Jane and Grandpa Paul. My cousins, one nearing 30 and the other nearing 40, weren't the young, flighty girls I had remembered them to be. They had something solid, something established. They were creating their own sense of home and family.
But though the change was startling, it wasn't scary. Because honestly, seeing all the interactions at the dinner table - Linda dumping grape leaves on Susan's plate, Kevin talking football with Chris, a long-lost uncle catching up with Aunt Jane - made me see just how important those initial bonds still were.
In the middle of all the craziness of moving to New York and trying to find a foothold in the journalism industry, I had forgotten what it felt like just to spend an afternoon with family. And just...be.
I've always contended that if you have your family and your health, then nothing else really matters. Things fall into place, problems work themselves out, and the world keeps turning. This weekend confirmed that. At the end of the day, what I decide to do in the coming years and where I ultimately end up will be more than fine no matter what. I've been blessed with a loving family (and an intricate network of extended family), and that support is immeasurable.
Having that knowledge is invigorating, inspiring. From a solid base like that you can really go anywhere. Like I'd been taught by the great Sumi back at USC, roots before branches.
Roots before branches.
16 August 2009
Getting on the bandwagon
So the mother learned how to text today. And this is what I get:
this is my first texting. i got 100 free texts in two months. most of my friends using calls instead of texting. that why jean pang asked me whom am i going to text. nice questiuon. ha! Ha! D'Hour is at our house now. He likes Seattle very much. this is a long text. I am waiting him to leav so we can out to dinner.
My favorite part is when she decides to note that this is a long text by typing "this is a long text," thereby elongating the text.
Second favorite part: she's texting as she's waiting for my brother's friend to leave so the fam can go out to dinner. Isn't that what angsty teens do when they're waiting for parents' friends to leave?
...ha.
this is my first texting. i got 100 free texts in two months. most of my friends using calls instead of texting. that why jean pang asked me whom am i going to text. nice questiuon. ha! Ha! D'Hour is at our house now. He likes Seattle very much. this is a long text. I am waiting him to leav so we can out to dinner.
My favorite part is when she decides to note that this is a long text by typing "this is a long text," thereby elongating the text.
Second favorite part: she's texting as she's waiting for my brother's friend to leave so the fam can go out to dinner. Isn't that what angsty teens do when they're waiting for parents' friends to leave?
...ha.
14 June 2009
I like family, family is good.
In an email from the mother:
Dear Brian and Joyce,
How is your day in New York? I went to dad's residents' graduation today. Guess what? Dad won the Golden Blade Award again.(This is the award voted by the residents every year, the highest honor a staff physician can win in the department) Last time he won the award was 2006. He is the staff who won the most. I'm so proud for him. He doesn't socialize a lot with people but he has PASSION for teaching his residents and works very hard, also very responsible. I believe he sets a great example for you. Don't forget to congratulate him. Ha! Ha!
Love,
mom
Dear Brian and Joyce,
How is your day in New York? I went to dad's residents' graduation today. Guess what? Dad won the Golden Blade Award again.(This is the award voted by the residents every year, the highest honor a staff physician can win in the department) Last time he won the award was 2006. He is the staff who won the most. I'm so proud for him. He doesn't socialize a lot with people but he has PASSION for teaching his residents and works very hard, also very responsible. I believe he sets a great example for you. Don't forget to congratulate him. Ha! Ha!
Love,
mom
27 May 2009
Walk the line
Exploring the city with mother in company is at once exhausting and reassuring. It's been a long few days, both physically and mentally. The thing is, on any other trip, with just the two of us traveling, I imagine that we would be at each others' throats by now - but this trip is different. Chalk it up to maturity, to circumstances, to knowing that this is the last trip of its kind for a while. Who knows?
For whatever reason, I can't help just appreciating my mom's company this time around. We've seen a Broadway musical (Billy Elliot), strolled through Central Park, taken a day at the Met, chowed down at Serendipity and Otto and even learned to swing dance. Really, a big part of exploring New York City for this week is just spending time with her. I'm realizing what a big deal this transition is for her as well, letting me come out all the way to the East Coast to do what I love, love what I do.
It's a big gamble, to be sure. Whereas I'm concerned about the job hunt and establishing a solid life here on another coast, she's worried after my safety, my sanity, my ability to work in an upward surge against the NYC population and downturned economy and stay healthy while I'm at it. I can only begin to imagine how difficult it must be to raise a child to a certain point and then just have blind faith in your own parenting skills. Trust that you've done well and instilled a strong sense of morality and social grace within him or her. Trust that he or she will know right from wrong. All the great make-or-break stuff of which parenting is made.
Seeing this move through the eyes of my mom helps me put things into perspective. It's a renewed vigor to succeed - not just to try, but to get somewhere - because this experience really isn't all about me, it's about all my family and friends and support back home. About what it means to have a purpose bigger than yourself and a legitimate reason not to cave in when times get tough.
Mom found out that one of her close college friends is dying today. She's in a coma after three bouts (that's 16 years) with cancer after a butchered surgery. She's a fighter, but still, the news was devastating - and how do you go about comforting a woman who you've always turned to for support? The only thing I can think to do is just listen. Sometimes that's all a person needs.
The news has jolted us both.
Do what you love, love what you do.
When it comes to quality of life, my mom and I have always had different opinions. I love risks, because I know that, after having to go under the knife back in freshman year, nothing is certain. The one thing I'd always depended on - health - became so fragile, and having it put in jeopardy under any circumstance really put everything into perspective. Or more accurately, it minimized the purported "importance" of everything else. Mom has always defined quality of life as being cautious, preparing ahead and thinking for the future. You never know what tomorrow will bring, she's always said.
At least on that point, we agree. Her answer to this uncertainty has been, always, to prepare for the worst and live a safe, by-the-books existence. And there's nothing wrong with this mentality if that's the conclusion that she's come to at this point in her life. But for me, I've always reasoned that this uncertainty means that you have to take chances - find what makes you come alive, and pursue that. Life is short, unexpected twists make it shorter, and there's no way to live a truly satisfying life without acknowledging this.
Having my mom here with me in NYC makes me feel like I've aged a few years. The tables have turned and all of a sudden, I find myself sharing my philosophies with the woman who has always given me such sage advice. And when she tells me stories of her past, of how she's come to this point in her life and her own realizations, I listen.
I think we're understanding each other a lot better now, knowing that the permanence of what we're sharing if fleeting. This transition is trying for us both as we're trying to hold onto the past and grasp the future simultaneously.
So what do you do?
Enjoy it.
For whatever reason, I can't help just appreciating my mom's company this time around. We've seen a Broadway musical (Billy Elliot), strolled through Central Park, taken a day at the Met, chowed down at Serendipity and Otto and even learned to swing dance. Really, a big part of exploring New York City for this week is just spending time with her. I'm realizing what a big deal this transition is for her as well, letting me come out all the way to the East Coast to do what I love, love what I do.
It's a big gamble, to be sure. Whereas I'm concerned about the job hunt and establishing a solid life here on another coast, she's worried after my safety, my sanity, my ability to work in an upward surge against the NYC population and downturned economy and stay healthy while I'm at it. I can only begin to imagine how difficult it must be to raise a child to a certain point and then just have blind faith in your own parenting skills. Trust that you've done well and instilled a strong sense of morality and social grace within him or her. Trust that he or she will know right from wrong. All the great make-or-break stuff of which parenting is made.
Seeing this move through the eyes of my mom helps me put things into perspective. It's a renewed vigor to succeed - not just to try, but to get somewhere - because this experience really isn't all about me, it's about all my family and friends and support back home. About what it means to have a purpose bigger than yourself and a legitimate reason not to cave in when times get tough.
Mom found out that one of her close college friends is dying today. She's in a coma after three bouts (that's 16 years) with cancer after a butchered surgery. She's a fighter, but still, the news was devastating - and how do you go about comforting a woman who you've always turned to for support? The only thing I can think to do is just listen. Sometimes that's all a person needs.
The news has jolted us both.
Do what you love, love what you do.
When it comes to quality of life, my mom and I have always had different opinions. I love risks, because I know that, after having to go under the knife back in freshman year, nothing is certain. The one thing I'd always depended on - health - became so fragile, and having it put in jeopardy under any circumstance really put everything into perspective. Or more accurately, it minimized the purported "importance" of everything else. Mom has always defined quality of life as being cautious, preparing ahead and thinking for the future. You never know what tomorrow will bring, she's always said.
At least on that point, we agree. Her answer to this uncertainty has been, always, to prepare for the worst and live a safe, by-the-books existence. And there's nothing wrong with this mentality if that's the conclusion that she's come to at this point in her life. But for me, I've always reasoned that this uncertainty means that you have to take chances - find what makes you come alive, and pursue that. Life is short, unexpected twists make it shorter, and there's no way to live a truly satisfying life without acknowledging this.
Having my mom here with me in NYC makes me feel like I've aged a few years. The tables have turned and all of a sudden, I find myself sharing my philosophies with the woman who has always given me such sage advice. And when she tells me stories of her past, of how she's come to this point in her life and her own realizations, I listen.
I think we're understanding each other a lot better now, knowing that the permanence of what we're sharing if fleeting. This transition is trying for us both as we're trying to hold onto the past and grasp the future simultaneously.
So what do you do?
Enjoy it.
06 May 2009
Email from the madre
Dear Joyce,
You have been texting too many and exceeded limit of 500. I've upgraded to 1500 messages for you to avoid paying extra charges (each is $.10). I don't want to encourage you to use too much texting. Please control yourself. There are lots of disadvantage for texting, one thing is bad for your fingers joints and the other one is not concentrating on what you're doing. Remember there was one train accident because the operator was texting while he was operating the train. How terrible it was. Some lady fell on the street because she was texting while she was walking!! Make no sense at all.
Love,
mom
You have been texting too many and exceeded limit of 500. I've upgraded to 1500 messages for you to avoid paying extra charges (each is $.10). I don't want to encourage you to use too much texting. Please control yourself. There are lots of disadvantage for texting, one thing is bad for your fingers joints and the other one is not concentrating on what you're doing. Remember there was one train accident because the operator was texting while he was operating the train. How terrible it was. Some lady fell on the street because she was texting while she was walking!! Make no sense at all.
Love,
mom
25 December 2008
Home for the Holidays
Christmastime and the holidays are the best time of year to write. There’s something about the combination of cold weather, family and those cheesy Christmas commercials that feeds directly into my urge to blog, har har. After what has been one of the most stressful, ridiculous semesters of college thus far, I’m savoring home-cooked meals, hours-long catchup sessions, and best of all, sleeping in. It saddens me to know, however, that break is going by so quickly – it’s already been a week since I’ve been home. Time really needs to slow the heck down, because this is pretty much the last “official” winter break of uh…life. Fo serious.
Winter breaks have changed so much from what they used to be back in the day. I still remember celebrating the holiday season in elementary school – performing dances, songs and other shenanigans with the rest of the class for the school’s annual Christmas concert. Even high school had its winter band and choir concerts. It was embarrassing then, and would probably be embarrassing now, but having those traditions really got everyone into the holiday spirit, and I do miss having solid benchmark events like that throughout the year.
I think I even miss ugly Christmas sweaters, not gonna lie.
The family and I used to be big on the multi-family holiday get-togethers – you know, the ones with lots of food (read: rice), fruit (read: sliced Asian pears) and frenzy (read: a chance for the parents to gossip and reminisce, also an excuse for them to throw their kids together and learn to deal with awkward social situations). There were potlucks in San Marino, karaoke nights at relatives’ houses, gift exchanges and Christmas feasts at an ever-changing array of homes.
Christmas music, lighted tree, TV blaring.
Kids’ tables, apple cider, intense Nintendo and board game sessions.
It was a great way to grow up, and over the years, these family friends became part of the holiday routine. Since we only saw each other once a year, there was always something to catch up on, some new news to share, a random story to tell. It was comforting to see these families parallel my own, and in a lot of ways, act as projected representations of what was to come.
I remember when the first of the “kids” stopped showing up to our holiday dinners – he went away to college, then graduated, then started his first job. It was jarring to know that such huge life changes were happening to people we had grown up with. We had all gone from sharing toys and candy to talking about boys and the latest video games to swapping college and career advice. Parents started to move away after their kids moved out. The gatherings became more infrequent as each family got more wrapped up in their own holiday plans.
It was surreal and we almost didn’t see it coming, but apparently, we were all growing up.
Then, someone got married. It wasn’t just my imagination then. Life really was speeding by, and the days of careless candy wrappers and shoes piled high in the foyer were over.
Just.
Like.
That.
Nowadays, the holidays are spent with our own immediate families, and I kind of like it that way, though it took a while to embrace this new holiday tradition. It’s a lot quieter without hoards of children running up and down stairs and parents yakking away around a half-cleared dinner table, and the lack of Christmas chaos feels a bit empty sometimes.
But at the same time, even though I miss the kind of winter break we shared growing up, I couldn’t ask for a better one than the one I’ve been having so far this year. It’s rare for the four of us in our immediate family to be in the same place at the same time anymore, and that’s what makes this holiday season so much more poignant.
My parents are always going between the States and Taiwan to visit my grandparents and take care of family business there. My brother’s starting a new job in January. I’ll be graduating in May, and moving to New York (fingers crossed). Who knows how the family dynamic will shift again then?
Kind of makes me think of one of my favourite quotes, however cheesy it might be:
“You'll see when you move out, it just sort of happens one day. One day and it's just gone. And you can never get it back. It's like you get homesick for a place that doesn't exist. I mean it's like this rite of passage, you know. You won't have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, you know, for your kids, for the family you start, it's like a cycle or something. I miss the idea of it. Maybe that's all family really is. A group of people who miss the same imaginary place.”
…except I know what I miss is real.
This holiday season, I’m savoring break for what it’s worth because seriously, for the first time in the four years since I first moved out, I feel like I’m home again.
Winter breaks have changed so much from what they used to be back in the day. I still remember celebrating the holiday season in elementary school – performing dances, songs and other shenanigans with the rest of the class for the school’s annual Christmas concert. Even high school had its winter band and choir concerts. It was embarrassing then, and would probably be embarrassing now, but having those traditions really got everyone into the holiday spirit, and I do miss having solid benchmark events like that throughout the year.
I think I even miss ugly Christmas sweaters, not gonna lie.
The family and I used to be big on the multi-family holiday get-togethers – you know, the ones with lots of food (read: rice), fruit (read: sliced Asian pears) and frenzy (read: a chance for the parents to gossip and reminisce, also an excuse for them to throw their kids together and learn to deal with awkward social situations). There were potlucks in San Marino, karaoke nights at relatives’ houses, gift exchanges and Christmas feasts at an ever-changing array of homes.
Christmas music, lighted tree, TV blaring.
Kids’ tables, apple cider, intense Nintendo and board game sessions.
It was a great way to grow up, and over the years, these family friends became part of the holiday routine. Since we only saw each other once a year, there was always something to catch up on, some new news to share, a random story to tell. It was comforting to see these families parallel my own, and in a lot of ways, act as projected representations of what was to come.
I remember when the first of the “kids” stopped showing up to our holiday dinners – he went away to college, then graduated, then started his first job. It was jarring to know that such huge life changes were happening to people we had grown up with. We had all gone from sharing toys and candy to talking about boys and the latest video games to swapping college and career advice. Parents started to move away after their kids moved out. The gatherings became more infrequent as each family got more wrapped up in their own holiday plans.
It was surreal and we almost didn’t see it coming, but apparently, we were all growing up.
Then, someone got married. It wasn’t just my imagination then. Life really was speeding by, and the days of careless candy wrappers and shoes piled high in the foyer were over.
Just.
Like.
That.
Nowadays, the holidays are spent with our own immediate families, and I kind of like it that way, though it took a while to embrace this new holiday tradition. It’s a lot quieter without hoards of children running up and down stairs and parents yakking away around a half-cleared dinner table, and the lack of Christmas chaos feels a bit empty sometimes.
But at the same time, even though I miss the kind of winter break we shared growing up, I couldn’t ask for a better one than the one I’ve been having so far this year. It’s rare for the four of us in our immediate family to be in the same place at the same time anymore, and that’s what makes this holiday season so much more poignant.
My parents are always going between the States and Taiwan to visit my grandparents and take care of family business there. My brother’s starting a new job in January. I’ll be graduating in May, and moving to New York (fingers crossed). Who knows how the family dynamic will shift again then?
Kind of makes me think of one of my favourite quotes, however cheesy it might be:
“You'll see when you move out, it just sort of happens one day. One day and it's just gone. And you can never get it back. It's like you get homesick for a place that doesn't exist. I mean it's like this rite of passage, you know. You won't have this feeling again until you create a new idea of home for yourself, you know, for your kids, for the family you start, it's like a cycle or something. I miss the idea of it. Maybe that's all family really is. A group of people who miss the same imaginary place.”
…except I know what I miss is real.
This holiday season, I’m savoring break for what it’s worth because seriously, for the first time in the four years since I first moved out, I feel like I’m home again.
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